Medulla
by anathemawrites
Summary: I refuse to play DDR to placate an evil spirit." i! "He gave up redemption for you." Series of Oneshots.
1. saeglopur

**Medulla**  
_Creeno_

* * *

More from my weird brain, Icelandic music, weird movies and avoidance of finals. Kindly review. It makes me happy. [:

* * *

sæglópur  
«_lost at sea_»

He's John and Mary's son one moment.  
The next, he belongs to Azazel, drinks his blood as a babe and cries.

_Blink._

Dean tells him to wake up, time to go, help another person.  
Dean is home, love, comfort, brother.  
He falls.

_Blink._

He's seven and his knee is skinned, but he has to get back to the hotel, give Dean his birthday gift.  
He makes his way back, and quietly slips the package into Dean's hand.  
He knows Dean's pretending to be asleep, but it still makes him feel better.  
He goes to bed with a smile.

_Blink._

He's twenty-three, watching his girlfriend roast on the ceiling and he can't move.  
He opens his mouth to scream, but only chokes on fire, draws in demon blood and he can't shut his mouth, it's too much, he can't refuse it, can'tcan'tcan't-----

_Blink._

Dean's shaking him, telling him to wake up, time to go, help another person.  
He's John and Mary's boy again.  
He's safe.

* * *

If I continue this, more or less, each'll be a standalone. [: 


	2. vaka croatoan tag

**Medulla  
**_Creeno

* * *

I rewatched "Croatoan." 'Nuff said.

* * *

_

«vaka»

Dean holds Sam to his chest, runs his hand through his hair the last time. He can hear that kid he _should've_ shot outside, ripping apart the woman he'd left. Sam's shaking; Dean can feel his tears soak through his shirt. 

Dean has to kill him now. There's no doubt about it.

"Sam?" His voice is rough, and he squeezes his eyes shut, sighs shakily. "Sam, I want you to close your eyes, Sam,"

The big lug shifts in his arms, and Dean knows he done it.

"I want you to sit still, think about something, anything nice, okay Sammy?" Dean's shaking hard, gun hand shakes. "Think about something nice, relax. Sssh…"

Sam rocks slightly as the noises outside pause and then footsteps start coming. Dean kisses his brother's head, puts the gun to his temple.

He closes his eyes, feels Sam still clenching his shirt hard, closes his eyes, fires.

Sam seizes up in his arms and Dean's own heart cracks as he feels Sam slacken in his arms.

Then he puts the gun to his own temple, bows his head and pulls the trigger.

Then there is just the jiggle of the doorknob and the enraged scream that follows when the person that used to be Duane Tanner finds the two in a puddle of blood.


	3. the nothing song

**Medulla  
**_Creeno

* * *

What with finals being over, Christmas feeling like summer, and some quiet music, StandfordYears!Dean has sudednly emerged. Blame Iceland.

* * *

_

«the nothing song» 

You don't want to feel anything right now.

All you want to do is drive, drive, drive, and forget that Sammy, your Sammy, never existed.

You want to forget how he felt when you curled around him, clutching your sawed-off shotgun, protecting him at night when it was just you and him in a nasty hotel in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere.

You erase it with monotony and alcohol.

And it's nice, this empty feeling. You're not bubbling, full of emotion anymore. You're just Dean Winchester, following his father's orders and trying to forget your brother ever existed.

You tell yourself that you like this empty feeling, even when you wake up with tear tracks on your face or you turn to speak to him only find empty-space.

Empty is good.

Less opportunity to get hurt more than you are.

Empty is bliss.


	4. departed

**Medulla  
**_Creeno

* * *

Hee. Happy X-Mas y'all from, Bumfuck, GA. :D

* * *

_

«the departed»

Silly Sammy, parting from his family like that.

Azazel smiles to himself, steps effortlessly into the apartment's hallway. The fragile man's body feels more comfortable now that he has a purpose other than just watching and biding his time.

He'd taken the job here as Ed, the apartment's fix-all guy. He'd pretended to be just an unassuming man, and watched Sammy all the while here at Stanford. The boy had flourished exceptionally here, studious and keen as Azazel wanted. Gotten a pretty girl, was almost at the top.

And tonight, he'd go on and make a move. He'd waited long enough, watching Sam hunt again. He's proud that Sammy's still got it, and now he wants to see him get better.

And he'll make sure not to give him any choice.

He manipulates the man effortlessly into knocking.

Footsteps, small woman footsteps.

His mouth waters.

The door opens and she smiles.

"Hey, Ed! How--"

He shoves her tiny body back into the wall, grinning as she hits it hard. The door slams shut behind him and he walks forward. Her face is panicked, and it makes the meatpuppet's blood run faster.

"Ed? Ed, what the _fuck---_"

"Now, now, girls like you shouldn't have such foul mouths," her lifts his hand, makes her head snap up, grow quiet. No need to make a big scene. "Didn't your mummy teach you better?"

She opens her mouth soundlessly, tries to move against his will, but he asserts it again effortlessly, dragging her teeny tiny form up the wall.

"You be good now, and make sure Sammy gets my message," he smirks and let's her face dissolve into shock before her cuts her womb, let's her bleed out.

Then he sets her, and departs without a sound, leaving his present for Sammy.

He thinks he'll love it.

* * *

_Hee._


	5. complex

**Medulla  
**_Creeno

* * *

Quick fic rec, ya'll. "The Appropriate Response" by paperbkryter. For those of you who like Insane!Sammy. [: Sorry for the slog; my throat's trying to reinact last year's strep throat and I'm more or less immersing myself in Dark Angel, which I'm surprised I liked. Hmm. _

In case I don't update soon: Happy New Years!

* * *

«complex»

You think that you might have some Oedipus complex, or something.

Jesse is petite, blonde, big smile and thinks that Sid Vicious was equivalent to God.

Sadly, this doesn't bother you.

In retrospect, it should've.

---

She turns her head, defies rigor mortis.

Her eyes are as wide in death as they were in life.

_Sammy._

You don't know whether to correct her or try to strain and peel her back from the ceiling, force gravity to work properly again.

_Sammy, you've been bad._

And before you can ask your crime, she bursts into flames and your screams compete with the sound of roaring flames.

---

Her grave is hollow to everyone but you.

Only you can see the girl who you impressed the image of your mother, who burned like your mother.

You feel sick to your stomach, knowing that you doomed her subconsciously.

(_this is one of those things that dean doesn't need to know_)


	6. brompton cocktail

_**Medulla  
**Creeno

* * *

__Woo. First upload of '08. _

_[: Inspired by my Donnie Darko soundtrack and an all-nighter on El Jay. Tell me if you want me to elaborate on this in any way, I'd be happy to.

* * *

_The order is simple.

_Burn it to the ground._

You nod and Dad leaves. The man gasps, looks at you fearfully before you slit his throat and his blood makes a pattern on the floor.

Climbing into the dorm is effortless. You've scaled harder things in your sleep.

You find a petite blonde woman there, but you make quick work of her, ignoring her tears and gasps. You make it as quick and quiet as she can, she's nothing to do with this.

You lay her out on the bed, head angled grotesquely as you dump lighter fluid on her corpse. You splash the walls, almost humming as you do it. Almost absent-mindedly, you go and lead a trail of it to the kitchen, where you turn on the pilot light in a half-hearted attempt to set up a scene.

Then you go to the window, light the match and toss it.

* * *

You run into the kid in Rivergrove, Oregon.

Actually, it's more like you show up and try to get under his skin.

He slipped out of Meg's grimy paws and Dad's too. So, you cheerfully go ahead and volunteer to run the test.

It's undeniably _easy_ to slip in a month ahead of time, gain their trust and discreetly spread the virus yourself. You manage to convince 'Sammy' that you're okay, and you take extreme pleasure in shooting Duane Tanner.

Sammy flinches when he dies and you find yourself doubting Dad, just a little bit.

That, however, evaporates as soon as that cute tiny nurse jumps him, cuts open her hand, and smears it over his own cut.

You make sure to use your poker-face when you plug her.

* * *

Time's almost up and you seriously think this kid needs a rainy-window ASAP. 

Guilt's rolling off him in _waves_ and you're not sure if you want to kill him and get it over with, laugh, or torture him further.

But you keep cool, put on that mask of Comfort while you grin amusedly on the inside.

_It's okay._

And, as you thought, he doesn't die. Freaks the hell out, sure, but he doesn't die. Not by a long shot, which is sort of disappointing. You can feel some level of resentment, withdrawal in him, and you'd love to exploit if you had the time.

But some cop in Detroit's already caught your nose; you haven't the time for the kid yet.

So, you part ways, give him a fake name, and an equally fake number, go with the Marine.

The Marine bleeds into your cup, nice and thick and you call Dad up.

You can hear the smugness in his voice, and you feel a little envious.

* * *

His body fits like a glove on Meg. 

You smirk, slide into the booth. Kid looks good with a cigarette tucked in his pretty mouth, but that's definitely Meg's smirk on him.

_Havin' fun, bitch?_

_As good as it gets._

Meg moves her meat-puppet, licks his/her lips.

_How long you planning on staying?_

_As long as I want._

* * *

You meet him again in a bar. He looks worn out and tired and you grin. He's not with his dear old dad, again. Perfect opportunity. 

_Hey, Kid._

He jumps, and you grin wider.

* * *

You hand him the gun casually. He's shaking, terrified, but you know he's got that Boy Scout thing running full-on for him. You know he'll do it. 

_Go. Help her._

You relish the sound of that gunshot.

* * *

_He won't kill him._

You frown, watch as the Kid walks away from the Army-Dude. It's been a good show, someone finally besting Mousey.

_Not yet._

Army-Dude's back up, swinging and the Kid about snaps.

It's a pity Meg isn't here. She could seriously use some pointers here by the way the Kid's macking on Army-Dude. You sort of want to join in and you're sort of proud, the way his fist connects with the side of his head like that.

You lean back and watch.

_Hey, Kid._

He whips around, face splattered in blood, and eyes narrowed, almost bleed black by now.

_You._

_Me._

You grin wide, let your eyes flash gold and you fold your arms.

_You done?_

He glances over at Former Army-Dude, and shrugs.

_Yeah, I guess._

_Looks like you won. _

_Yeah._

_You plannin' on stayin'?_

* * *

You grin as you lean over Dad, taking in how surprised and betrayed he is. Sammy, as you've taken to calling him, is behind you, covered in Meg's blood. 

Like you care.

_Finder's keepers, Pops._

* * *

_Where we going to next?_

_I'm thinkin' Vegas. And after that, go pay a visit back to that Jo girl._

_Do we get to play with her?_

_I thought you did already._

_Meg didn't leave me a lot of leeway. I'm thinking something involving a good deal more blood, little less talking._

_Sounds good, bitch._

_Watch your mouth, jerk._

* * *

_**Review. It feeds my habit.**_


	7. vessel

**Medulla  
**_Creeno

* * *

I should be banned from branching out musically. All it brings is pain.

* * *

_

There's a searing pain, right between his gut and his heart.

It feels like fire's trying to devour his insides, pulsing it's way through his veins and up to his eyes, mouth, before settling like pressure between his brain and the back of his skull.

It's been there, a roiling mass for the longest time.

Sometimes, it's gone after he has a vision, or after a long, long nap or just a lapse of blank silence in his memory.

But these days?

It's always there, shoving at _everything_, making a mess of his emotions, thoughts, almost daily _life_.

He doesn't know why, but he can take a guess after the first few times, when he shoots that bitch at the crossroads and when he plugs those demons in the basement.

The ache gives way to a brief moment of bliss, his equilibrium is restored and it feels disturbingly good.

He doesn't tell Dean, just adds it to the list of things he's never told Dean, a list that's growing bigger and bigger almost everyday.

Ruby just smiles at him in his dreams, and her eyes go black.

_Don't worry Sammy, _she teases, _it'll get better. Eventually._

The only thing he can hope is that 'eventually' is not a path made of blood and visions.

* * *

_Reviews are my drug-of-choice, ya'll._


	8. nine for dean

**Medulla  
**_Creeno__

* * *

Wrote these awhile back, before I got my comp back and was on the pre-internet shite thing. xD This is Nine of Dean, next is Either Jo or Sam. Any song suggestions are welcome. [: Kudos and cookies to who can guess who did what song._

* * *

**You're the Devil (In Disguise) **

Dean's not stupid.  
He makes that clear when he smirks and snaps the succubus' wrist cleanly before leveling the gun at her forehead.  
You can't scam the best.

**System **

When he was a kid, he had dreams of fire for the longest time.  
He'd dream that he'd watched Mom burn from the doorway, Sammy in his arms, watched until she burned to embers and the house fell around them.  
He never told anyone and he aimed to keep it that way.

**Me, I'm Not **

He catches himself, again.  
He keeps finding himself, turning to empty air where Sam used to be and saying a joke or side-comment.  
He needs to stop before he ends up being Edward Norton looking for Brad Pitt.

**Aim For the Head **

"God, I fucking _hate_ zombies!"  
"You ain't the only one, princess!" barks Dean as he blasts another one full of bullets, straight to the head. They're on the top of the toy shelves in WalMart, blasting zombies full of bullets at three in the goddamn morning, both liberally doused in blood and guts.  
After this, thinks Dean, he never wants to see another goddamn zombie movie _ever_ again.

**The Warning **

He should've seen it sooner.  
Sam becoming more erratic, that demon-chick showing up more and more.  
But he turned a blind eye and now the world's falling apart, just for him.  
Fucking irony.

**Come Back To Bed **

He moves to get up, go for his phone, but her small brown hand goes over his wrist.  
"Dean?"  
He reconsiders, but still goes for it, because he knows Cassie.

**Home Life **

Dean's idea of an 'apple-pie' life was just his car, some good tunes, and his brother. Nothing more and really, nothing less.

**Milanó [Milan **

He leans on his car and watches everything go to hell. Sam smiles on the hood of the car and Dean refuses to look back and meet Sam's yellow eyes.

* * *

_Woo. I've got more oneshots to pick from. xD Review._


	9. possibly maybe

**Medulla  
**_Creeno

* * *

__Didn't know whether to call this 'Possibly Maybe' or 'Between'. I might do a sequel one-shot.

* * *

_

_«possibly.maybe»_

She's in a yellow sundress, all smile and sunshine. He knows she's got a sandwich, bad for his health, but tastes like heaven in the basket beside her. She wears no cross, bears no scars.

She flickers as he takes her hand.

* * *

"Daddy!"

He grunts awake as a little boy and a smaller girl bound on his bed. Their both giggling, and he plays along, pretending to still be asleep, even as a tiny finger pulls up his eyelid.

"Daddy? ­_Da-_ddy!"

She lets his eyelid drop before he pounces, kids squealing.

He scoops them up, laughing, and feels a pinprick at the back of his neck, as if someone is standing in the corner behind him, but when he turns, no one's there but his dusty family album, reverent, old, forgotten.

* * *

"_Can you honestly take this away from him?"__

* * *

_He breaths in her peach-flavored shampoo, holds her closer in their bed. Dimly, he hears the TV. downstairs, white noise barely audible, remembers that they're probably exhausted, asleep.

He detangles himself from her, stumbles downstairs.

A smile comes to him, one sandy-haired girl asleep on the couch with her dark-haired brother.

He pulls the blanket on them as faint whisper breaks and falls from the white noise, but he never hears.

* * *

He calls his brother once a week. Wednesday. They talk for three hours, maybe more.

He never remembers the conversations, but always the conflicting feelings of happiness and dread afterwards.

* * *

_He swallows, brushes the dirt from his face._

"_No."__

* * *

_He opens the photo album as she showers, gets ready.

First, best picture is their wedding picture. Her dress is beautiful, simple, and his tuxedo? He snorts. He looked ridiculous. Sort of like…

_«…seventh grader at a dance.»_

_«don't objectify me.»_

It tumbles from his fingers,

and his eyes open to see bloody, bruised, battered Sam,

_blinks_

and then she's holding his face, worried, concerned, confused.

* * *

"_I can't."_

(_he condemns him to a peaceful, half-awake, blissful hell instead of a cruel bloody one._)

(_it's hard to say which is worse._)

* * *

_So, two-shot, y/n? (goes back to work on Popplagið)_


	10. psychobabble

**Medulla  
**_Creeno _

* * *

_If you get who it is pulling the strings, you get cookies and song call for the next one-shot. [: _

* * *

_«psychobabble»_

_"I can give him a better fate than you ever could_."

-

The voice is taunting, but all he can see is Dean lying there, eyes open and vapid, unresponsive to everything he says. This _thing_ smiles at him, some perverse creature, worse than a Djinn with a vapid expression and taunting gold eyes set in a beautiful face.

-

_"What are you?"_

_"Everything you've ever wanted._"

-

He's thrown into Dean's fakehappysunshine_normal_ world. He sees a black haired woman with a beautiful smile and _Jessica_ jumps at him.

He closes his eyes and sees two little children and his heart leaps to his mouth.

They have Dean's eyes.

-

"_I can do whatever I want. Do whatever I want."_

_"Who gave you that right?"_

-

Dean doesn't see him.

He does, looking at random places where Sam looks at him, but he doesn't _see_ him.

-

_"Dean!"_

"_He can't hear you. Not really."_

-

It whispers in his ear that Sam could be there too, could just as easily be that woman or just plain ole brother Sam.

Anything Sam desires.

Anything Dean desires.

-

_"Can you honestly take this away from him?_"

-

Dean's happy.

Dean's smiling, holding his children's hands as he walks them home from school.

Dean's normal.

Dean's alive.

-

_He swallows._

-

He kisses his brother's forehead in his fake world and for a brief moment feels him come back to him, if only for a moment.

Then he lets go.

-

_"No."_

_It smiles and let's Dean back into his fakelovingworld. _

(_sam has condemned his brother._)

(_but he really doesn't know how to feel_.)

* * *

_Desire is everything you have ever wanted. Whoever you are. Whatever you are. **Everything. **_

* * *

_Hee. Review. _


	11. milano extension

**Medulla**  
_Creeno_

* * *

_ (gnaws fingers)_

* * *

Milanó «extended version» 

Sam smiles at you, leaning on the Impala. You smell the air: sulphur, blood, bone, metal, rust and ash.  
It's become familiar.

_Like the new décor?_

You don't answer.  
He laughs softly in your head and you just stare ahead.

* * *

_You heard of the deaths in the newspapers._

_Always separate, not suspicious until much, much later when it didn't even matter anymore. _

_Five girls._

_Five boys._

_Young, pretty._

_Not your concern until you saw Sam smile and hold up the amber snaked with blood and hair and your vomit came up to your throat but you somehow managed to choke it all back down._

* * *

_I really couldn't do anything about it,_ Sammy shrugs, hands in his hoodie pockets. His mouth twists. _Same for my eyes. Sorry._

He's done enough.

* * *

_Did Ruby tell you how?"_

_"Sorta," Sam smiles at you, and you somehow know, just _know _that he's cracked, not really himself anymore. You know it's your fault too, but you'll get over it. Later. "More like her old Mistress told her how." _

* * *

He still cringes a little bit though, as if dragging the depths up to the surface isn't more than enough.

"It's okay, Sammy," you sigh, a little weary.

He beams, basks in that one comment.

He loves you more than he did as a child.

Much more.

* * *

_He leans down, grasps your head. You don't move as slick, half-warm blood touches your skin as he smiles down at you._

_"You'll live. I promise."_

_His eyes glow gold. _

* * *

He hugs you now, hand sifting through your hair, clear of blood even though you know you'll never stop seeing it on his fingers. He kisses you on your forehead, sulphur overwhelming your senses, even though you don't struggle, because no matter how twisted he is, he is still_ Sammy_.

He is still Sammy, though he has gold eyes and pulled Hell onto Earth in your name, your honor, your life.

He is still Sammy, though he's impossibly fractured and he loves you so, so much.

So you hug him back and let yourself be selfish even as the human race is tortured, hurt, burnt and demons run near-wild.

Because he is Sammy and he loves you and you love him.

* * *

_Damn, this felt longer when I wrote it. xD. Review. (gnaws fingers some more)_


	12. bloodbonebrother:heart

Medulla  
_Creeno__

* * *

Tag to 'Mystery Spot.' [:_

* * *

«_blood bone and brother_»

In a midst of a red river, he stands. Blood to his waist, green eyes empty, face set in stone.  
In his hand he holds a bloody, long silenced heart.  
His mouth yawns open.

_Bite_.

* * *

Dean's eyes are glassy, unfocused. There's blood leaking from his chest and all Sam can think is: 

wake up.  
wake up.  
wake up.  
wake up and it'll be Tuesday again.

* * *

Blood slides down his lips.  
_Bite._

* * *

He lies in bed and does not dream.

Not of blood.

Not of death.

Not of revenge.

Just nothing.

* * *

Swallow.  
_Bite._

* * *

Trickster.  
Dean.  
Trickster.  
Dean.  
Trickster.  
Dean.

* * *

_Bite._

* * *

Bobby's friendly voice reaches out and pulls him forward.

"…_every fifty years…"_

* * *

Swallow.  
_Bite._

* * *

"…_Gallon of blood_."

He nods.

* * *

Reach into the river of blood.

Pull up his brother's head, bloody and silent.

* * *

"_You aren't him_."

The wood slips through him like butter.

* * *

Kiss his forehead, his lips. 

* * *

"_Bobby?_"

* * *

Set his head back into the river of blood. 

* * *

"_Bobby_?"

"_Bobby_?"

* * *

_Weee. Review._


	13. the great destroyer

**Medulla  
**_Creeno_

* * *

«_the great destroyer_»

He walks a path of fire and brimstone, gun in one hand, red eyes determined, feet bare, amulet thudding resolutely against his chest.

Demons, witches, imps, anything that can bring pain and darkness try to fall into his footsteps. They quickly learn that it's better to linger in his shadow, where he won't shoot or deny you altogether or hell, even mock you.

It's better not to be seen.

-

_It's a dream in a warm, hazy dream set in nowhere and everywhere._

_"Hey. Wake up."_

­-

Michael stands with his flaming sword, where heaven rests. He is serene, but his eyes are fatal upon his beautiful face.

One touch and Michael is no more, returns to the Creator where he belongs.

Long fingers pick up his sword, yet the demons in his shadow dare not crow victory.

-

_There's a soft sigh and he struggles to lift his eyelids._

_-_

The Gates open wide and Heaven is bare to him.

He walks past the angels, does not hear their screams and clamor as the others fight.

He does not care for the fleeing souls around him, doesn't even register their screams.

The blood that slides down his face does not stop him from the steely gaze he keeps on the Creator.

-

_"C'mon. Wake up."_

-

Uriel moves aside, knows that he is not meant to fight him, though he weeps for his brother.

He lifts the sword, and the Creator just looks at him solemnly, unafraid.

"Why?"

And as always, the Creator fails him, gives him no answer, no comfort.

He cuts it down in a single stroke.

Doesn't even blink when blood sprays and the world collapses.

-

_Green eyes open and settle on his brother for the first time in a long time._

_"Hey, Dean,"_

_"Sammy," He sits up, in this plane of non-existence. He can't believe his ears, his eyes._

_"Hey, hey," his younger brother wraps his arms about him, gives him the feeling he's long missed of comfort, of home, of _self_. "It's okay, Dean. It's okay. It's over."_

_And Dean closes his eyes and doesn't regret a damn thing._

* * *

_There are no words. Review. __  
_


	14. nobody but the baby

**Medulla**  
_Creeno_

* * *

_The song "Nobody But The Baby" from the O Brother Where Art Thou Soundtrack was stuck in my head from the moment I woke up. So, here's the fic that's been whaling on me all day._

* * *

«_nobody but the baby_»

_Creak.  
Creak._  
She hums as she rocks in the old chair, baby pressed to her chest. He's sleeping now, like he should be, undisturbed. His brown curls frame his chubby face beautifully and when he looks at her sleepily, she's reminded of someone from a long time ago.

_Creak.  
Creak._  
Her feet brush up against the puddle of blood as she rocks in her chair. It's still wet, but it's cooling. It feels nice on her skin as she hums a rhyme to her baby, wraps him in old and new blankets.

_Creak.  
Creak._  
She looks up at the clock, watches it go _tick-tick-ti-_ and smiles as it's choked. She stands up, leaves the chair to _creak-creak_ on it's own. Blood seeps up between her toes and walks past her dead husbands corpse. She leaves bloody footprints as she goes to the door and there Old Scratch is, grin on his face.

"Named him Sam," she laughs, voice shaking. "Dean always liked that name, Sam, so I named him Sam. That okay, Scratch?"

"It's perfect, Mary," he smiles and runs his hand against her face, and his eyes glint cat-yellow. "You ready to go?"

"I been waitin' to go for a long time, Scratch," She smiles, face almost doll-like. It twists in pain as he slices her stomach, and Scratch catches the baby as she crumples to the ground, curling up like the wounded, soon-to-be dead animal she is.

She looks at him through a sea of bitter tears as Scratch cradles the only baby she had left and kisses his forehead. The baby looks at her one more time, like Dean used to and she dies, goes to her first babe and has no regrets.

* * *

_Old Scratch Old synonym for devil. Review._


	15. facilitare

**Medulla  
**_Creeno  
_

* * *

_Yikes, guys. Totally indecisive about what to write this week. Blargh. So, due to wikitionary, have fun with this one. It's part of a two-shot._

* * *

_«__**facilitare**__»_

It never rains, it never snows.

It's never quiet, it's never peaceful.

It's Hell and even with all its screamingyellingroaring inhabitants, it still feels empty.

Ruby whispers in your ear, with her black eyes and bloody fingers, tells you that _all you need is him, all you need to completely do as you want, all you need to do is climb up and take him for your own_.

You sentence her back to her Mistress, close up your ears against her advice.

You don't want that for him.

He's suffered enough.

-

Your father chuckles bitterly, one eye dangling from its socket as Agony bites into his shoulder and Ecstasy kisses his neck.

_You always do as your told, don' you?_

_No._You gaze at him steadily as you watch Ecstasy morph into your mother, hair golden, and fingers made of ash. _No, I don't._

_That's not what I remember,_ he wants to say more, but you don't let him.

-

You straighten up in some stupid teenager's room, their cruddy emo-punk rock posters glaring down at you. His eyes are hollows set in his face and his hair is too to long and you hate him, _hate_ him instantly.

"_**What do you want?**_" You snarl at him, eyes black before you know it.

"I-I want you to do my bidding, O―"

You make his skinny little body hit the wall and you step over the crudely, incorrectly drawn Devil's Trap. You smile as you look down at him and before you know it, you've got your hands on his neck and your claws in his stomach.

-

Lucifer strikes you down to his feet, eyes glaring down at you angrily. Your tongue wipes at your blood before it disappears into your skin.

You've messed him up.

Again

-

This time, when you're dragged to the surface, the Devil's Trap is properly drawn and the body you inhabit is a boy you used to know as Ben. You stare up at your brother, and you think that for a moment, you must be mistaken.

"_**You look like Death warmed over,**_" you arch your/his eyebrow, "_**OD'ing on emo-rock, are we?**_"

-

You come back to Lucifer, and he gazes at you flatly, the kretek in his mouth glowing dimly.

"Yes."

He smiles wide.

-

Lucifer's blood tastes like firehate_purpose_.

-

"_**Hey, Sammy**_,"

He turns away from the red sky, and you grin at him, let your eyes go bloody red. You can see his throat tighten, and you let him hold you to his chest, shake.

Behind him, you watch the ash fall and hear the people scream.

You wrap your arms around him and smile.

* * *

_Review. (goes back to studying Latin_) 


	16. red sky

**Medulla  
**_Creeno_

* * *

_ Part two. Wincest in here, skip if you get squicked. _

* * *

_«red sky__»_

Dean kisses you, and it feels as if you're burning.

His grip is strong, stronger than it ever was, and you don't care.

He's here and that's all that matter.

* * *

They call him King and lay nations at his feet. 

He laughs and they flinch, pull away.

He turns to you and says, "What do you want, Sammy?"

"Nothing," you say.

* * *

The Trickster looks at you in disappointment and perhaps anger. 

"I tried," he sighs, "I tried,"

He disappears without another word and you pretend not to know why.

* * *

At night, Dean whispers in your ear. 

He tells you how he drank from Lucifer, took his blood, how it tasted like lava and hate and how it was nearly endless.  
(_he bites his lip, dips his head and it's exactly how he said it was_)

He tells you how he sawed off his wings, watched Lucifer cry and scream in what seemed to be salvation, and how they sounded when he crunched them, ground them to dust and then took Lucifer's key and claimed hell for himself.  
(_when he grinds the bones in your wrist, he says it was almost like that, but not quite_)

He tells you that when he saw you, everything felt complete and that you are the only thing he needs, and that he made the sky red all for you.  
(_and you don't feel guilty_)

* * *

When Michael's sword hisses through the air, you move without thinking. 

Then you hear Michael's pained scream and Dean's angry roar and after that, nothing.

* * *

_Review. [:_


	17. 1234

**Medulla**  
_Creeno_

* * *

_Wee. I had too much going on in my head and I am comm. shy. So, here's 50 sentences of almosts and maybes and in-betweens.

* * *

_

_«1234»_

1. Sam takes away Dean's heart, watches him slump on the hotel bed and stares at the organ for a long, long time.

2. She watches the horse scream for his brother, the younger colt whinnying as shrilly as he and all she wants is for the ground to open up and swallow her father for separating the two.

3. Sam _tries_ to keep his face straight as Dean starts adlibbing over the irate man's voice, but it all goes to hell when Dean goes, "IT'S GOJIRRAA!"

4. "I swear Sammy," Dean narrows his eye at the creepy blue eyed kid and his white eyed fat ass grey rabbit, "that thing is Satan. I swear."

5. Dean's sure he must've had some drug slipped into his drink; there was no _way_ there were two mini people arguing over who got to be who's Fairy Godparent.

6. Sam frowns at the demon before him, and it hurries up as he watches Sam's fingers twitch in his tell-tale way of irritation.

7. "You're just like _them_," hisses the not-woman, her freaky-ass nails elongating, catching between Sam's neck, "Desperate and stupid."

8. With a jerk, Sam steers the Impala away from that _thing's_ mouth, remembering how it had eaten the bullets whole, and how it was better to have the Impala dented than to be swallowed whole.

9. Heaven tastes like everything he could have ever wanted but somehow, it isn't enough.

10. "I'm Loki," grins the blonde psychotic angel, gun still trained on them both, "The one behind you is Bartleby."

11. He says his name is Jake not Dean and Sam knows it's the truth because his blood is hatelonelinessconfusionsorrow not confusionhappinessguiltstrain.

12. The bay doesn't eat, doesn't drink, and doesn't stir for days and her heart breaks.

13. John whuffs at Dean's hand impatiently but Dean can only grin as his fathers doggy tail wags a mile a minute.

14. Cassie jerks, moves stiffly, body taut, but head lolling on her shoulders and Dean snaps into the same rhythm as Sam smiles, an expert puppeteer now.

15. Gordon clutches the machete tighter and doesn't bother to feel anything as he slices her brown neck.

16. When Sam recreates everything, he does it with only a touch to Dean's heart and then everything just falls together as it's supposed to be and it's_ beautiful_.

17. "He beat me with a bunch of _flower petals_?!"

18. Dean pulls away her arms, Sam fishes for her eyes and John just watches, unable to do a damn thing.

19. Henricksen frowns at Michael; he's never believed in religion and doesn't really think he deserves to be up here just for being on the business end of a blast.

20. "Good boy," Lilith pets Sam's head, leaving him to curl into a ball as she walks away, still small, but definitely a woman.

21. "Fuck off," growls Dean, but the imp just smirked and plunked down more goddamn paperwork for him to fill out, a testament to how much hell sucked.

22. Lucifer grins, "Taxes or election year?"

23. The kid grins at them, legs swinging from the roof of the Impala, his rabbit perched between his legs and this time, Dean _knows_ that thing is sentient.

24. "Sam," puffed Dean, "no more Jedi mindtricks."

25. One moment he's seeing a mechanical eye glaring at him and the next Dean's telling him to wake up.

26. Mary peels her face away to reveal Jessica whose skin turns to black and fades away to Ruby.

27. Dean doesn't speak to Sam, just goes to the bathroom and cleans the blood from his hands and scrub away the bitch's blood from under his fingernails.

28. Ruby hands the gun back to Sam, and he doesn't mention the blood splatter on her face or the auburn hairs on her jacket.

29. Lucifer strikes a match, eyes narrowed at Azazel and wonders how Morpheus let him go.

30. Desire smiles and kisses Sam's forehead, leaves Dean to his dreams and Sam to his guilt.

31. Dean's frozen on the spot as that thing, that _thing_ becomes his mother, pleading for him to save her, help her, pleasepleaseplease, and he can't do anything but shake as she touches his face and cries for help.

32. Desire is finicky.

33. Sam doesn't speak to the man opposite him, just looks down at his coffee and tries to sort through fact and dream.

34. Delirium smiles and John and cradles the Not-Mary in her arms as her sister/brother stares blankly at him and promises retribution.

35. No one jokes about the patch over Dean's eye for three months.

36. Sam's eyes are feral, pure flight-or-fight, and Dean doesn't know how to fix it.

37. John could only do so much until he just did as he was told and if that made Sam happy, then that was fine, so long as he never had to go back into the depths of the Pit.

38. Death is a woman with wild black hair and she lets Mary watch for only a moment before she takes her in her arms.

39. Sam looks ashamed, scared as Dean quietly works at the outer ring of the Devil's Trap until he finally breaks it and Sam feels the weight lift from his chest and he walks right over it.

40. The cowboy fiddles with his hat nervously, angrily and they wait for Aguirre's son to work his way down the mountain.

41. Jake looks astonished when he can't move from the front of the hotel door and that's when Sam knows.

42. "We can't burn these," breathes Sam as his fingers ghost over the two shirts hanging in the trailer closet.

43. Ruby sets Jo's head on the bar gently, vomit clawing at her throat as her fingers come back sticky.

44. "Thank you," Junior smiles at them, Alma smoking a cigarette stonily behind her and Lureen unreadable.

45. The universe unravels and Dean's content.

46. Sam doesn't tell Dean that the reason his fingers are wrapped up is because when he dropped the holy water, it burned worse than he ever felt.

47. "She was my mother," rumbles Jake quietly, drawing inane circles in water across from Sam, "and I...I couldn't stop thinking of her as Marisol, even when she made me drink."

48. God turns out to be a petite woman who is mute and bakes Dean the best pie.

49. Max turns the gun on Sam instead and Sam gladly accepts it.

50. Jake curls into Sam and Sam holds him as close as he can and neither speak when they feel_her_ hands ghost over them and her kiss on their cheeks.

* * *

_Who can tell me all the series/movies/wtfever referred in here? Or would like to take a whack at it?[; Review!  
_


	18. warehouse

**Medulla  
**_Creeno_

* * *

_Serial killers are fun to write._

* * *

«_warehouse_»

The photos are gruesome, to say the least.

All of them are hitchhikers or runaways, and all of them never saw what was coming.

He reads the reports, can't make heads or tails, because the only halfway decent reasoning is how they traveled. Beyond that, he's got nothing but the smirking asshole behind the two way mirror.

* * *

They caught him in Stone Mountain, Georgia. It wasn't easy, Henricksen admits that fully. It'd taken months and _months_ of planning, but it'd happened.

He hadn't been happy, either, when he caught him, not at first.

He'd already started to slice up Linda Mewes when they'd come racing into the room. She'd been crying and bleeding all over the sheets and he'd gone absolutely _livid_ at the sight of them.

It'd taken eight agents to bring him down, three dead on the floor.

Henricksen stared at him dead in the eye and the little fucker grinned, blood smeared on his face.

And then he spat on his good shoes.

* * *

"Why'd you do it?"

Hazel eyes spark at him, feral and not really there.

"Why not, preacher?" He grins back, using his nickname he'd given him during the slip in Louisiana. "Can't tell me you don't enjoy a writhing body under you some―"

The butt of the Desert Eagle hits his face.

He chuckles darkly and Henricksen's eyes smolder.

* * *

He watches as, in his cell, he draws symbols on the walls.

Symbols that look like malformed crosses, mangled pentagrams, things he doesn't know, things that make his stomach turn uncomfortably.

* * *

"Give me that,"

Hazel eyes look at him coolly and the edge of the metal cot he snapped off continues to screech against the concrete.

"No,"

* * *

While he's tending to a black eye and split lip, he has him sedated and put into a room with no metal, no plastic, and barely any cloth at all.

* * *

"Says here, after your mother and brother died, you just dropped off the map with your father," he looks at the disheveled psycho humming something that sounds like that shitty rock music his daughter listens to.

He laughs and leans in his chair, still handcuffed to the table.

"My Dad's dead if that's what you're askin'," he grins, chuckles some more. "Died about that time I killed that waitress in Tampa. She was cute, wasn't she?"

* * *

"We think he's communicating with someone else,"

"Who does he have?" Henricksen's eyes narrow. "There's no one else, they're all dead."

* * *

He stares past Henricksen this time, pale but still mocking.

Henricksen just looks at him pensively.

There are too many pieces.

Not enough time.

* * *

"Hey!"

The man ahead of him just pushes open the cell, pays him no mind. Henricksen draws out his gun, but before he can do anything, he's pressed up against the wall, unforgiving weight on his chest.

He can feel himself choking as he struggles to keep his eyes on the open cell:

He looks shocked, fearful as the man walks to him, resolutely. He tentatively reaches up, touches the stranger's face.

"_You did a good job,_" the voice is warm, but cold too, cold in the way that he's killed and doesn't care.

"Sammy," the word is whispered in half-awe.

Then Henricksen feels his chest depart from his bones and then he's standing before a man with a severe look and wings at his back and it's then he knows that he's lost to Dean Winchester.

* * *

_Wee. Serialkiller!Dean is fun. I might pick him up again. Review._


	19. 28:06:42:12

**Medulla**  
_Creeno_

* * *

_If you haven't seen Donnie Darko, you will be more lost than usual.  
_

* * *

_«28:06:42:12»_

They're in Duluth, Georgia at a Western Inn. It's eight at night and Sam's browsing headlines when his laptop suddenly goes black.

He swears, tries to press the power button to no avail. He's about to pry it open when this _keen_ emits from the computer, sharp and piercing.

Immediately he puts his hands over his ears, wincing, when it suddenly plummets into low white noise.

His eyes crack open to find that the screen is littered with Firefox windows, all opening and closing rapidly. Each one has something highlighted, but it's zipping too fast for him to catch anything before one swallows up all the other ones.

It says:

**HELP HIM.**

Then the screen goes peacefully back to its previous, harmless state, and leaves Sam to wonder and re-check the salt-lines.

* * *

They're in traffic on I-75 North, in gridlock traffic and Dean's half-awake in the passenger seat, still trying to get over that goddamn poltergeist. Sam's worried, but he won't tell Dean that, it'd just get him a frown and a warning not to start.

That, and it's about 78° degrees here, even in _fucking_ October. Too hot to argue.

So, Sam turns on the radio, ignoring Dean's protests of _none of that emo-shit_ and _be careful, dumbass._

They've made an inch leeway, listening to Jimi Hendrix's _Purple Haze _and arguing over whether or not Britney Spears was possessed when it happens again.

"---Dude, she is _not _possessed!" Sam rolls his eyes and turns Jimi up as some redneck honks angrily behind him. "She's just taking extra stuff in her cocaine cocktail!"

"Mm-hmm," Dean shoots him a skeptical look, drumming his fingers on the passenger door. "Then explain---"

_**Psssshhhhhhhh---!**_

The sound of white noise _blasts_ from the Impala's stereo and the car gives a lurch from Sam's panic. Dean would've said something about his lack of skill if he hadn't been busy going deaf.

Sam reached down to the radio controls, trying to turn it down, but it only climbed higher.

"_Dammit!"_

Before Sam could permanently damage the radio, the sound diminishes again, and then a hollow, metallic voice issues from the speakers, causing Dean's skin to crawl and the hairs on Sam's neck stand up at full attention.

_**MIDDLESEX.**_

_**HE NEEDS YOU.**_

The white noise goes again, to a crescendo before the radio comes softly back, letting Tears for Fears' _Head Over Heels_ wash over them.

* * *

"Middlesex, Virginia," Sam turns his laptop around to face Dean. Dean's ears are still ringing with yesterday's noise, so they're in their hotel room, in nice quiet.

"So it's a place. Sounds like a city of transsexual's or something," Dean frowns, scrolls down the list of articles. "Shit, what's wrong with the place? They've been a death city since, like, 1988."

"Exactly,"

* * *

_He's walking down a street made up of simple houses, almost no one milling about. It's a clear, sunny day when he rounds the corner. A few pig-tailed girls run by, but he takes no notice of them, even when he probably should._

_He passes by the front of a large, immaculate house and lawn combo, sprinklers at full whirr. His foot hits something that isn't concrete, and he jumps back startled._

_Squinting, he squats down, picks up a wallet, flips it open. A cheerful man grins back at him, in a way that seems out of place, but familiar in the same time._

_**Jim Cunningham**_

_**45A Rose Street**_

_NOW YOU KNOW WHERE HE LIVES._

* * *

They reach Middlesex without further incident.

Sam's dreams, however, get worse and worse.

He has dreams of sobbing little girls and burning, gutted houses.

Sometimes, he dreams of the metallic voice telling him things, words he doesn't know.

Other times, he sees a little boy with bright blue eyes grinning at him and mouthing words.

He tells Dean about them, after he throws up or wakes up choking.

* * *

They're sitting in a little diner when Sam drops his bacon halfway to his mouth.

Dean's about to rib him when the little kid appears beside their table, eyes big and blue and a large, fat grey rabbit clutched in his hands, eyes stark white.

He smiles in a way that is adorable, creepy and _knowing_.

"Hi. I'm Donnie," he holds up his rabbit as best as his ten year old arms can, "and this is Frank."

* * *

Donnie smirks in front of them, Frank unreadable in the parking lot. The red-haired waitress is watching them, eyes narrowed and Sam is studying as if the kid knows all the answers and Dean was feeling more and more like he'd just stepped into an episode of the Twilight Zone on acid.

* * *

"We couldn't save Jim," Donnie speaks first, petting Frank, seemingly not caring as the rabbit shed all over his Depeche Mode shirt. He hadn't cared when they had given him a swig of holy water and the rabbit more or less gulped it down.

"We?"

"Me an' Frank," Donnie flicks one of Frank's ears, "we're best friends. _The_ best of friends. We tried to save Jim back then, but we couldn't,"

"Hate to break it to ya, dude, but you're _ten_," Dean frowns, "You weren't alive in 1988,"

"Yes I was!" Donnie looks slightly affronted, for a kid.

* * *

"Donald Joseph Darko, killed October 2nd due to an unidentified jet engine crushing him in his bed, age sixteen," Sam's eyebrows rise and he doesn't see the smug look Donnie throws at Dean.

* * *

"Jim was a pedophile," Donnie frowns, purses his lips, "Frank had me burn down his house so we could get Mom on the plane and make him repent. But when we turned the clocks back, the idiot went and killed himself so he wasn't saved."

"That's why he's been picking off―"

"_No_," Donnie's voice is sharp, but not angry. "Well, yeah, but...when we were in school we had to do these..._lifelines_, and you had to cram the entire spectrum of human emotion into two fuckin' stupid extremes, fear and love."

Dean pulls a disgusted face. "Oh, _god_ that's the sick fuck who made those attitudinal adjustment books?!"

* * *

The house is deserted, empty.

The last family moved out three weeks ago.

But they forgot their two little girls.

Jim tells them to choose for him.

Choose fear or love.

* * *

Donnie smirks from atop the Impala. His damn rabbit is leveling what Dean is sure to be a self-satisfied smirk at him.

Sam rolls his eyes and makes a mental note to use _demonic bunny_ on Dean sometime.

"I thought you were done guiding us, Yoda," snarks Dean.

When Donnie opens his mouth, there's a different, metallic voice issuing from it.

_**NOT YET.**_

* * *

Dean snaps awake to find a lanky teenager standing over him, eyes bright. In his hand is a hatchet and behind him is a hulking man-rabbit with metal for a head and milky white eyes that's impassive and at the same time terrifying.

"Where―"

_Sam asleep in a hotel bed, red haired waitress smoking a cigarette and crying, holding his hand._

"Don't worry," the kid's voice is light, "Gretchen will take care of him."

* * *

_Donnie?_

Jim's voice wavers and he let's the little girl with the happy clown face paint go.

Dean fires.

Donnie watches Jim's figure convulse for a moment, before, as if he's on a string, he's jerked forward. He grins and swings the hatchet.

Jim's dead.

For good.

(_silly blue man in a red suit_)

* * *

Frank stares down at the prone figures of the brother's Winchester. Donnie is on his right, Gretchen on his left.

Donnie looks at Frank curiously. "Did you give it to him?"

Frank nods slowly.

Gretchen hiccups.

Donnie grins slowly.

* * *

That morning, Sam wakes up, feeling worse for wear.

He gets up, makes his way to the bathroom, fumbles for the light.

When he turns it on, he sees a hatchet buried into the mirror, with words scrawled on the cracks.

_**I CAN DO ANYTHING I WANT**_

His arms burns and he looks down.

_**AND SO CAN YOU.**_

_**28:06:42:12**_

* * *

_Confused? Thought so. There's an impending sequel, along with serialkiller!Dean coming up again. Review, even if you're like WTF-ing or fangirling.**  
**_


	20. domestic fucker family

**Medulla**  
_Creeno_

* * *

_Serialkiller!Dean, back by my penchant for loving fucked up characters and by popular demand._

* * *

«_domestic fucker family_»

He drinks from a can of Bud as Anna Moore struggles to keep breathing. He can hear her near primal sobs struggling to leave her chest, but he just gazes at the stars on the roof of a crappy Midwest hotel and wonders when Dad's gonna come home. He turns the knife idly in his fifteen year old hands, makes a note to dip it in bleach after he cleans it.

She dies two minutes later.

* * *

"C'mon," he takes Aaron Beagle's hand, leads him away from the party. Aaron laughs and lets Dean take it. They're both sixteen, both know what they want. 

Aaron wants sex.

Dean wants to slit his throat.

* * *

Sammy grips his wrist gently, brings his ice-cold forehead to Dean's warm one. 

"_Can I...?_"

"Sure," whispers Dean hoarsely, throat parched.

He watches as Sammy reaches into John's chest cavity and pulls out his heart. He doesn't blink as Sammy bites into it, moaning.

* * *

"Why do you need them, Sammy?" 

He stops sucking the blood from his brother's finger.

"_So I can be with you,_"

* * *

He loves sharing his kills with Sammy. 

He wonders if Preacher knows where some of the organs go.

* * *

All he wants to do is see his face. 

(_sammy says not to, he doesn't want dean to leave him all alone_)

In Louisiana, he knew he was tracking him.

(_he promises sammy he'll be fine, promises him to be back_)

He willingly entered the confessional and grinned when the divider slid back.

(_sammy nods and says if not, he'll come back, get dean_)

"Hello, my child," he shifts nervously in the booth, tugs at the high collar. Dean knows he's got a gun somewhere.

"Evening, Preacher," he flashes a feral grin. "Come to arrest me?"

* * *

He slams her skull against the pavement. 

_CRACK._

Thinks of his mother burning on the ceiling.

_CRACK._

Remembers his father, holding him back from running in the house to save Sammy.

_CRACK._

Chokes back tears at the memory of him lying, saying that he didn't hear Sammy's wails, even from the front lawn.

_CRACK._

Hears the sound of his mother hitting the ceiling, of his father being thrown back into the wall, unbelieving.

_CRACK._

Smells burning flesh, burning wood, burningburningburning.

_CRACK._

_CRACK._

_CRACK._

Then he feels fingers, baby soft fingers, detaching his own from the girl's mangled piece of flesh.

Fingers he's never forgotten.

He gasps out:

"Sammy?"

* * *

_Yay. I explained, sorta. D. Review!_


	21. samskeyti

**Medulla**  
_Creeno_

* * *

_SERIALKILLER!DEAN IS EATING MY HEAD, ARGH._

_Oh! I'm totally leaving Bumfuck, GA to go to Memphis, TN to see family and celebrate Easter. Joy. So, this is the last update 'til I get back Monday. If you're impatient and like Mr. PsychoPants, go to my profile, click the homepage and look on the right. Click 'Cereal convention'; it's where I keep ninety percent of batshit!Dean. :D (if you get the joke, mental kudos to you.)_

* * *

«_samskeyti_»

It rains backwards in Dean's head.

It flows up and up and up outside the house Bobby knows used to be their family's. Back when it was John, Mary, Dean and Sam.

He goes up the stairs slowly, doesn't touch the doors.

He knows better than that.

There's a little boy with freckles standing in the doorway, watching everything in slow motion. Bobby's drawn to the sight of the boy being thrown out the nursery as it bursts into flames, and the sight of John stunned beside him in fear.

The boy gets up, rams himself against the door, once, twice, screaming.

A chill goes up Bobby's spine at the sound of Mary's screams coupled with the high pitched wail of what was unmistakably Sam.

* * *

The house keep had shaken Dean frantically, screaming.

He hadn't moved.

Just slept and slept and slept.

What she didn't see was his brother, greengold eyes worried, unable to touch him.

* * *

The little boy is grabbed by John, and he screams when John carries him down the stairs, down to safety.

The second one, watching all of this, turns away, moves to the door to the left.

"Dean?"

He seems not to hear him, just opens the door, and slips into it.

* * *

Bela Talbot finds the Colt in the safe after they take Dean's sleeping form away.

She grins, already running a list of contacts in her head, turns and abruptly feels cold fingers on her wrists and angry eyes pin themselves on her.

When the help comes back, Bela Talbot is found strangled next to an empty safe.

* * *

It's cold and Bobby wants to vomit.

There are people, parts of people dangling from meat hooks, like a butcher's shops. There's cooled blood on the floor, and the rank of them makes him want to gag.

The boy walks through them easy, pushing aside their bodies where it grows too dense, still unable or unwilling to see or hear Bobby behind him. Bobby sees that some of the bodies have their organs missing, not just entrails spilled over the floor.

It gets colder and colder the further and further the boy walks through the mental butcher shop.

* * *

He waits with a baseball bat, smirk on his face. He knew the second hunter would come, try to spoil his fun.

But_he'_s not having that.

A cold hand slides itself into the intruder's spinal cord and _pulls_.

* * *

"Dean?"

The boy twists open the door knob, looks at Bobby blankly. 

Then a small smile blooms on his face.

He pushes the door open and standing there is―

"_Bobby!_"

* * *

He jerks awake to Ellen's worried face and the sight of Dean's eyes blinking slowly open in the hospital light. He takes a breath, tries to deny what he saw.

"Dean?" His voice is hoarse as he sits up.

"I'm fine," Dean looks up, grins a little, but his eyes are flat.

_Tell anyone and __**you'll**__ be hanging on a meat hook._

* * *

"He saw you,"

"_I know._"

"But he won't tell,"

"_I know_,"

"Did you get him? The student?"

"_Of course. I got the other one too, the girl. She wanted the gun,_"

"You should've let her take it,"

"_It's yours. No one else's,_"

"If you say so,"

* * *

(_sometimes, when bobby sleeps, he runs away from his wife, into the little meat factory where dean hung his bodies. sometimes, he follows dean in that door, to the field of poppies where he can see sam and his goldgreen eyes and their mother, a puppet made of mirrors and it terrifies him beyond belief_)

* * *

_Mwahahhaa. Review.  
_


	22. anything at all

**Medulla**_  
Creeno_

* * *

_Hee. Sequel to __**28:06:42:12**_

* * *

«_anything at all_»

They don't talk about the Middlesex case.

They put the Virginia town in their rearview mirror as soon as possible.

But it doesn't put them on the backburner.

* * *

It doesn't take a genius to figure out what the numbers meant on Sam's arm.

Dean just clenched his jaw and kept driving.

Sam couldn't scrub the numbers off.

* * *

If Sam's eyes blur enough, he thinks he can see the time slipping away on his skin.

* * *

_DREAMS._

_What?_

_DREAMS. EVERYTHING WILL COME TO YOU WHEN YOU DREAM._

He jerks awake and Dean looks at him, but says nothing.

* * *

(_twenty days remain_)

* * *

He dreams he's in a factory of decayed clocks. All of them are stopped on the same time, and all of them call out to him, groan.

The one that he stares at longest is the grandfather clock, where a noose is slipped around Dean's neck and he swings grotesquely.

Sam feels bile rise in his throat.

Donnie grins behind him, reflected in the glass.

* * *

Dean wants to mention how Sam's laptop hasn't opened since Middlesex and how he knows Sam isn't sleeping and how he's scared as hell and how, goddamn it, he didn't have a clue what was going on and this was a shitty way to spend the last few days on earth.

But whenever he tries, Sam tenses, glances at his arm and the tic in his jaw starts.

Dean lets it drop for another hundred miles.

* * *

Elizabeth Barley is about to let them in her house when she glances down at Sam's arm. She goes stiff as a board and her hand snatches his wrist fast as a cobra, pulls up the sleeve where the numbers glare, her grip amazingly strong for an older woman.

Shaking, she lets it go as if it burns.

"Get off my porch," she hisses. There are tears pricking her eyes, anger. "I've told you a thousand times, _leave him alone_."

* * *

"She was his sister,"

Dean doesn't ask how Sam knows that, just revs up the engine and adds it to the list he keeps in his head.

Sam stares out the window and tries to think of how to speak to her.

* * *

_A woman with red hair, finely aged, hands a book to Elizabeth Barley._

_"He'd want you to have it," she smiles at Elizabeth, "I'm sure."_

_Elizabeth gazes down at the worn book. She frowns, as if she knows something. _

_"Did...did Donnie..."_

_The red haired woman lays her hand on Elizabeth's shoulder._

_They both fall into silence and the clock tic-toc-tick's._

* * *

Sam wakes up with the name Roberta Sparrow on his lips.

The book is small and leather bound. Elizabeth Barley keeps it tucked in her drawer, next to her bed.

Yet, Sam finds it in his hands, a letter tucked in-between the pages.

* * *

(_eighteen days remain_)

* * *

They don't exorcise Elizabeth Barley's house. They pull through Alabama boonies in strained silence and music that's too loud, but feels better than the tension.

Dean tries not to look at Sam's arm.

* * *

That night, Sam dreams of Donnie again. Donnie doesn't have wings or black eyes, or even a halo.

He just looks at Sam and offers him an old kitchen knife.

"You can't save everyone."

* * *

_Coney Island glows bright with electrical lights._

* * *

Sam is given two choices.

Fear and Love.

* * *

_Dean's not afraid of heights; he grins at the top of the Ferris Wheel._

* * *

He looks at the knife, looks at Dean asleep and mumbling.

He lets the knife go and puts his head to Dean's, and inhales gun oil, cheap soap, and some nameless scent that he's always known.

* * *

_"Hey, Sammy," he nudges his brother, "fireworks."_

* * *

He pulls away and closes his eyes.

He grips the red threads of Time, and _pulls_.

* * *

_"They're pretty, huh?" Sam grins._

* * *

He can smell the country and the old leaves.

He can see Dean racing to him.

Blood explodes into his senses, but he laughs, as Jake twists the knife in his back.

* * *

_Red, blue, white, yellow streak across the sky._

* * *

He falls to his knees, smile on his face, though Dean's pale and grey and pierced with _grief_.

* * *

_"Yeah," grins Dean, "I guess."_

* * *

"It's okay, Dean," he laughs, spits blood into his brother's hair, "it's okay, everything will be _okay_,"

* * *

_Sam smiles, and two sets of gold-dappled eyes meet._

* * *

The knife cuts through Dean's abdomen, and blood rushes over Sam's hand and he breathes one last time.

"Every…thing'll be…._fine_."

(_and Time runs out._)

* * *

_Who says babysitting gets nothing done? : Review, ya'll.  
_


	23. recessional

**Medulla**_  
Creeno_

* * *

_I should be working on Popplagið or something, but this emptied itself out._

* * *

_«recessional»_

They're in Maine and its winter.

Jess is on his left, Dean on his right.

He closes his eyes and soaks up their warmth.

* * *

Sometimes, he comes back to God and his glasses and frown.

"Are you ready, Mr. Winchester?"

And how can he tell him?

How can he?

So he just closes his eyes and lets the angels take him back to Heaven's safe arms.

* * *

He curls into Dean's side.

"I'm sorry," he says, "Sorry I left,"

"I know, Sammy," Dean's breath is warm on his skin and he kisses Sam's forehead and Sam forgives him.

Jessica just watches, hums in a corner.

* * *

Sometimes, he talks to Michael.

Tells him what it's like beyond Heaven's walls.

And Michael smiles and guides him.

* * *

Jessica leaves them, one day.

He doesn't notice, and that's fine.

Dean is warm and the car just glides and that's all he needs.

* * *

God sighs and says, "Do you want to see your father?"

Sam smiles. "How did he get here?"

* * *

Sometimes, he and Dean retrace their steps.

They go back into time, back before there was ever a _Jess_ or _Stanford_ or _Demon_.

It's more comforting than moving forward.

* * *

John looks at Sam, eyes searching. His eyes are bloodshot and he's disheveled.

Sam's wondering how he came out of hell and tumbled into Heaven.

* * *

Dean kisses Sam softly as snow falls around them and buries the landscape.

* * *

"Sammy," John's voice is rough, and he clears his throat as Sam tilts his head forward. "Hey, Sammy, how are you?"

* * *

Sam breaks away, laughing and leads Dean past their burning house and into the woods, where no one can find them. Dean runs ahead, darts where Sam can't see him.

* * *

"I'm fine," Sam studies him for a moment, though Dean's tugging on his hand, wanting to be followed. "Did they let you out?"

John swallows and he looks as if he wants to cry, but Sam knows his father. He doesn't cry, not for this.

* * *

"C'mon, Sammy, come back,"

* * *

Sam's eyes flutter and he feels Michael behind him.

"Mr. Winchester, Sam's gettin' tired," Michael's voice is gentle and Dean's voice is insistent. "You'll have to say goodbye now."

* * *

And Sam follows Dean again, takes no notice of his father's leave and Michael's touch.

All he has is the cold and Dean and it's enough.

* * *

_Sam needed to get on the crazy boat too. So, yeah. Review.  
_


	24. burn the breadth of sky

**Medulla  
**_Creeno

* * *

Vienna Teng's "My Medea" inspired this. Quickly, open another tab and YouTube it!_

* * *

«_burn the breadth of sky_»

Once he loses his first, his second is ready.

He tosses aside all else and looks dead into his eyes and says, _I will_.

He hates that it took pain to make him come to this, but the ends justify the means.

-

His father drugs him and he wakes in the middle of a labyrinth, with nothing but a dagger to aid him, some matches, and some bread.

He stands, and without a look back, marches forward.

-

"You don't fear to lose him to hate, John?"

He chuckles softly.

"I already have."

-

The scream of the hyena is cut short when he slices it's throat. Blood spills warm over his fingers and he only registers it dimly.

He needs to learn how to do it, without his hands.

-

"_Sammy," his brother's voice washes over him and he turns, comes closer to his warmth._

_His eyes open when smoke and ash invade his senses and his eyes open to his brother's grinning face and rent skull._

"_Sammy,"_

He wakes up and then the hyena's shrill laugh stops as its neck twists in midair.

-

His son has wandered the maze for days, for weeks, for months.

He dreams of him emerging cold and hateful and it feels more like premonition than fantasy.

But then, he remembers that his son is stronger than his father and that he asked for this.

And, in a small way, it allows him to sleep better.

-

Hyenas give way to lions, who give way to the possessed who give way to the small demons.

They all fall.

His head ceases to hurt, his nose stops bleeding, and everything comes together more and more.

The amulet, broken and caked in blood, slaps his chest in a reminder, day after day.

And then, he finally emerges from the paths of stone and nightmares into the harsh glare of the sun.

And he hates it.

So, he steals it away.

-

He is unsurprised to see his youngest, tall and eyes glinting with half-madness, dragging the corpse of his advisor in his grip, caked in blood, making his way to his throne.

He tries to feel no remorse as he looks down at him.

"I am done here," his son speaks softly, and he drops the advisor by her blonde hair. "I will see you again. Perhaps."

And he knows where he goes when the sky turns red and ash claws up his throat.

-

He walks through the halls, hearing people's screams, the old's moaning as they beg for death, but receive none. No one is dying, the sun is gone, and the stars and winking out one by one.

It's only a matter of time.

-

And the sun returns, with half her power and this time, both sons stand at his throne, broken by his hands and theirs.

And he says: _You have no obligation to me. Not any more._

-

He dies and they reign over all.

* * *

_Review!_


	25. survivors

**Medulla  
**_Creeno_

* * *

_Inspired by Sigur Rós' music video for "Vaka" and Nine Inch Nail's song "In this Twilight." _

* * *

_«ash»_

If there's one thing you can't ever wash from your hair, its ash.

No matter how short or long it is, your hair is always coated in it.

After awhile, you just stop washing it and go back to waiting for those boys to finally show up and kill you.

-

You can always tell when there's a battle, even from halfway around the world.

There are little tremors in the floor and the sky warps, changes from the stark, bleeding red that's become normal to almost fading into the bright blue you've missed. But it's only a quick blip before it's an angry red again and ash falls thick and choking outside.

You chuckle, bitterly, and regret reading those Ray Bradbury books as a child.

-

Jo left a little baby for you before she died. You brushed her hair back and cried silently as your daughter died and your grandbaby slept in your arms. Jo mumbled, tongue thick with blood, that her daddy had been _some hunter, in Albany, Georgia. Good ole boy, who already had a pretty little wife, but if he was still alive, he'd probably like to know that he had a daughter_.

You just rocked the babe in your arms and kept your criticism to your self, running your fingers on the baby's coffee-and-cream skin until your daughter died on the cot.

-

Fran is tall and wiry. Her eyes are bright, bright brown and like all children born after the red sky, her eyes are a little red. She calls you Momma, says it like she was born in the country and not in the back of a bar with only her grandmother and dying hunters for company.

She knows who her mother is and expresses no urge to find or be like her father.

She always knows when to back down, likes the little Led Zep you have left, and has beaten all of her mother's scores by the time she's nine.

You count yourself lucky.

-

One thing that's stayed with you is when Fran, as a little girl playing the a few mongrels, had gone out to play in winter 'snow.'

The sky was red as blood, the clouds roiling, and yet they laughed as they zigzagged through it, made snowmen, clattered on old junkers, even broke them.

What made this even more surreal was the fact that they all wore handkerchief's or gas masks, like little soldiers in World War I mini-soldiers, in a past long gone.

-

When she comes in from the snow, she stares up at the sky and you recognize the look on her face:

The same Jo looked at Dean with, the same look she had given her collection of knives, the same she'd given to her father's old things.

Longing.

-

She can't seem to wash the ash out of her hair, either.

She does, however, make use of it.

One morning, around Christmas, you come to find a little ash snow man on the counter.

You laugh and she pops out from under a table, grin on her face.

-

"Momma?"

"Yeah?"

"Is this what the sky used to look like?" She holds up an old, mostly faded postcard and it feels as if you're looking at something from the twilight zone.

Then your old fingers take and you sigh.

"Yeah. Yeah, it did."

-

The postcard makes itself home in Fran's little room.

-

Sometimes, you dream about the first few days of ash.

You remember how birds fell in multitudes and the screams of the innocent.

You wake up and it's worse.

-

"Momma?"

You look up as Fran turns to you, bright brown eyes bright.

"Yeah, honey?"

"I can hear 'em comin'," she says softly, little underground tremors getting larger, quicker.

"So can I," you wipe down the counter and count.

One big step, two.

Three big steps, four.

Here they come.

-

When the door opens, your back is turned, but you know who it is, instantly. He always did cast a hell of a long shadow.

"Sam," you smile, boards groaning beneath your feet as you set the glass down.

"Ellen," you turn and he's there, standing genially. His eyes are the same shade as the sky and at one side is a petite blonde woman and at his right is the very person who pushed him to break everything, shit eating grin still on his face.

"Time to go, huh?" You look at him, arms spread wide on the counter.

You're surprised as _bang bang bang_ rings out.

The Colt drops from Fran's fingers with a loud clatter and all three of them lie on the ground.

You stare at her and she looks up as the sky flickers to a hazy summer blue before slowly slipping into red and then, darkness.

"Damn," she whispers.

* * *

_I ended up counting all of my collective Serialkiller!Dean oneshots, that total about eight. It's about to be, or nearing nine or ten. I'm contemplating just hitting new story, because holyshit, it's __mutating._

So, new story or keep it in Medulla? 

* * *


	26. gravity

**Medulla  
**_Creeno_

* * *

_-shrug- Vienna Teng seems to inspire nutso!normal!Sam._

* * *

«_gravity_»

Sam takes Dean's hand and Dean shows him the way out.

Dean never lets him down.

-

"Dean?" Sam looks up at his brother through his long, long bangs.

"Yeah?" He rumbles in the firelight.

"Is it alright, if I never let you go?"

-

John brushes Sam's hair out of his eyes, and Michael looks relieved when something akin to recognition flares in the younger man's eyes.

"Dad?" Sam's voice is shaky, as if he can't believe his eyes.

"Yeah, Sammy," John smile is cracked, and he glances at Michael―it's a damn miracle.

"Dad, I...I thought you were _dead_," Sam's voice cracks, at near hysteria. His eyes tear up and he grips his father's hand in a deadly grip. "I-I thought the demon, _the_ demon―"

"What?"

"_The _demon, dad!" Sam's starting to breathe hard, hands beginning to shake. "He killed you! I-I know he did!"

John looks lost and upset. "Sam, demons don't―"

Sam jolts away from him, hits the wall and Michael comes up to take his arms. Sam's eyes are bright, and he blinks back tears.

"You aren't him," he shakes his head in denial and Dean's voice echoes, says _Sammy, where are you? _"You aren't him, you aren't him―"

"―Sam, you need to calm―"

"―where's my real dad?! He's dead isn't he!? You're trying to trick me, I won't―"

"―what the hell do you mean demons? Sam, I―"

_Sammy, come back! Sammy!_

-

He wakes from his nightmare to see Dean's worried face peering down at him.

"Sammy? You okay?"

He turns in Dean's arms and holds on for dear life.

He needs him.

Needs him so bad it hurts.

-

God looks more concerned and burdened before behind his desk.

Sam just stares out into the snow and waits for it to be over with.

-

"Sam, you're father's here,"

"He's not my father," he draws pictures of Jess and wonders where she went and why.

Michael sighs.

-

He leans up and kisses along Dean's jaw. Dean sighs in his sleep and that makes Sam's mouth curve into a smile when Dean's arms tighten about his waist.

He ignores the dim shouts of not-John in the background.

-

_Samuel Winchester, age 24, was hospitalized in St. Joseph's due to a mental breakdown immediately following the death of his long term girlfriend and new fiancée, Jessica Moore. He is the only surviving child of John and Mary Winchester. When Samuel was nineteen, his elder brother, Dean, was killed in a home invasion where Samuel was a prime witness. Mary Winchester herself disappeared when Samuel was ten years old and John Winchester raised both boys on his own._

_Samuel is not expected to recover fully, but the Palo Alto community still hopes._

Review! :D

* * *


	27. three

**Medulla**_**  
**__Creeno_

* * *

_Abrupt. –shrug-_

* * *

«_three_»

The first three seconds that Sam was dead, Dean screamed and cried and hoped someone could hear him, even when he knew that they couldn't.

The first three minutes that Sam was dead, Dean felt the warm trickle out of his body and into an empty nothing.

The first three hours Sam was dead, Dean propped him in his car, drove to Bobby's and laid him down on his empty bed, curled up beside him and stared at Sam until he fell asleep and dreamed his death over and over again, each time getting worse and worse and worse.

* * *

Dean knows that things come in threes. It's a fact of life.

There was a baby before Sammy, but that babe died in his mother's bed and never had a name, was never spoken of again.

Sammy was(is, he shouldn't ever _be_ past-tense) the third child.

* * *

Three times two is six. And with six, his mother died.

Dean tries not to think too hard about that.

* * *

John told Dean three times to be careful and by the third time, Dean could shoot every single fucking can _and_ keep an eye on Sammy.

Sammy took three little steps to Dean and Dean caught him before he fell.

Threethreethree.

* * *

Dean took twenty-one minutes to get Chinese food and when he came back, John was halfway drunk and Sam was no where to be found.

He didn't leave the motel for three weeks, hoping Sammy would come back.

He didn't.

* * *

Three years and he can't remember what Sam's favorite soap is. He can't remember whether or not Sammy wore a size fourteen or eight, can't remember why he always books twins instead of one king.

* * *

It takes three seconds to grab Sam and haul ass out his apartment.

It takes three days for him to coax Sam to eat.

It takes three months for him to get Sammy to smile, _really_ smile again.

Three.

* * *

Sam stays dead for three, whole, agonizing days.

And on the third day (_the Lord rose again_) Sammy woke up and Dean had his brother back, if only for three hundred sixty five days/fifty-two weeks/ one thousand two-hundred fourty-eight hours/seventy four thousand, eight hundred eighty minutes.

* * *

_Review._


	28. 5678

**Medulla**_  
Creeno_

* * *

_As awesomely bad as "Devour" is, mygod. It ate me alive. You'll see a oneshot soon._

_And the alchemy in here isn't from le show. The Homunculi and Gate should be glaring arrows to where I got it from. Points if you pick out the crossovers._

* * *

«_5678_»

1: She smiles to see her sons together, feels less abandoned than before.

2: Jakes sometimes goes silent for days and only comes back from the oddest things, never tells Sam how or why

3: "Why do you feel so guilty?" she frowns, brushes her fingers over his cheek, "I did this for you, Jake."

4: Ruby brings a shaking hand to her neck, feels the blood from his bite.

5: Sam pulls Jake to him, eyes stuck at the sight of blood on his lips.

6: "That," sneers the Crossroad Demon disdainfully, "is a corruption of the Seven."

7: "Homunculus," mutters Sam, and the black haired woman stiffens.

8: The boy's mouth yawns wide and reveals rows and rows and rows of deadly shark teeth.

9: "The Gate gave them to me," he hisses, "it was _fair_."

10: Ash squints at the screen, hopes that what he read was just his imagination.

11: She's not surprised to hear that the bay broke the door down and fled.

12: Dean grins at the Homunculus, liking him if only for a moment.

13: Dean doesn't believe in God or Angels, even when one lives right near him.

14: Sam prays to God, irony of ironies.

15: "Devil in Disguise" whirrs to life beside the receptionist and Dena fingers his gun, narrows his eyes.

16: Sam feels uncomfortable under the blonde's gaze, and every pop of his gum makes him tense up more and more.

17: Jakes bites down mercilessly into Sam's shoulder, lapping at blood, his brotherlover's moans goading him on.

18: Azazel looks at his ruler and concedes the throne to the proper heir.

19: Dean curls around his brother, secure with the gun beneath the pillow and the salt beneath the window.

20: "Fuckin' bitch," Ruby spits blood and saliva, stepping on the said bitch's skull as she went.

21: That thing screeches and writhes and it's not Mom, _not Mom_.

22: Sammy's mouth is open, wide open, but _nothing's coming out._

23: Sam can't speak or see, all because they thought they could bend the rules.

24: They burn the alchemy books with the barn and Mom's things and don't speak of where their father might have gone.

23: Dean looks the man in the eye and lies about everything.

24: He purses his lips and believes Dean, doesn't ask why his brother is silent as a mouse or why they have no parents.

25: Loki can smell the sin; can see what no one else can see between them.

26: The water is muddy, but you use it anyway; Sammy doesn't even squirm as you wash his hair with it.

27: There's dust everywhere and in everything, even in your dreams.

28: _**POOM**_. The bay shrieks, goes back and batters his hooves against the door, again and again and again.

29: The white filly and the brown mare push the beam from the door and the mangy brown tom cat swats the last latch away and the bat thunders out, triumphant.

30: Henricksen chuckles as he watches Gordon try to lift the brown colt's foot, but the thing was stubborn as hell, hoofs strong as pillars.

31: The bay thunders down the hill, and that colt wheels around, Gordon left on the ground as he runs to meet him.

32: Dean blows smoke from his nostrils and Sam thinks of a dragon.

33: Jake smiles nervously at the skinny brunette in bandages, unsure of what to do.

34: "You could have had him, Jake," his mother kisses the brunette's hair as he struggles to complete the puzzle.

35: John's eyes turn cold when Sam can't move from under the Trap.

36: But it's only a moment and then Dean picks up the rifle and shoots him, eyes bright and gold, but still loyal to Sammy.

37: Jesus is a skinny dude with a smoking habit who tells Dean exactly what to do with himself.

38: Sam sucks the blood from Dean's bottom lip, smile on his face.

39: "Thank you," he smiles as Dean erases the Trap and pulls him closer.

40: Ellen aims the gun at Jake's throat, face clouded.

41: "I don't need some Skin in here tryin' to mock me,"

42: Jake barely gets away with his life.

43: He finds Sam Winchester in a mental hospital, a crying, mad, mess.

44: "Killed him, wouldn't let her," Sam's eyes flash as he grasps Jake's arms, "Murders go to heaven, you bastard, why aren't you there?!"

45: Neither one of them are completely sane, but it evens out.

46: He steals Sam away from the hospital, and he knows he doesn't imagine his mother as the last nurse, smiling as she distracts the others.

47: "Sammy?" issues from Jake's mouth and that breaks him.

48: River can hear Sam's mind _tic-tock- tic-tock- tic-tock_ and Dean's buzz with _concernfearwatchtictocktictocktictockmovethink_; both are damn distracting.

49: Constantine pats out a piece of gum, grimaces and mutters, "It's your brother, huh?"

50: "No one else I'd do it for," whispers Dean.

51: Dallas Winston wakes up when some British woman steals the St. Christopher's Cross from his grave.

52: Dean glances at Sam and then they turn back to the angry ghost of a greaser.

53: Bela comes to her car to find all the tires slashed, the window smashed, the gas siphoned, and all of her occult objects missing.

54: Even in death, Dallas can command anyone he wants.

55: "Do we have to give it back?" Dean grins as Bela argues in frustration on her phone in the hotel room, "That dude's totally riding her into the ground."

56: Sam rolls his eyes and goes to summon Dally.

57: "I refuse to play DDR to placate an evil spirit."

58: For just a moment Sam freaks out to see Dean dead with a bottle of vodka in pills in his hand, sprawled on his bed.

59: But it subsides when he hears fucking _Gerard Way_ wailing Helena from the speakers.

60: "Get up," Sam shoves Dean's smirking ass to the floor, "I know you better than that, asshole. You'd kill yourself to Nine Inch Nails or Black Sabbath, not fucking My Chemical Romance."

* * *

_Me and my friend, Amry (who writes excellent crack on here), were discussing why we are glad that most teens aren't into SPN and came up with scenario for sentences 58-60. C'mon. Dean'd never die to Linkin Park or MCR. Never._

_For the record, the Helena music video was awesome, but the band? Eck._

_Review and guess!_


	29. halfway to heaven

**Medulla**_  
Creeno_

* * *

_So, apparently it takes depressing musicals to snap me out of a(n) oneshot funk. Yay! Sort of a coda to __**No Rest For The Wicked**__ one of the most depressing but wholly awesome episodes of SPN._

* * *

«_halfway to heaven_»

Dean's body lies in a circle of salt and brickdust.

Sam draws little runes in salt and chalk and blood and ash though he can't see, but he remembers each and every one.

-

Lilith meant to use her powers to kill him.

Sam acted like a greedy black hole and sucked in every ounce of it.

There were consequences to this, though.

As he held Dean's broken and bloody body, tears blurred his vision and after there were no more tears to cry, he rocked and rocked, dry sounds of grief echoing from his throat, he found that the tears had taken his vision and grief.

-

Bobby gently pries his fingers away from Dean's body.

"C'mon, son," he says softly.

Blank green eyes go to meet his and Bobby's hand heats up.

_No_.

-

He draws the last rune outside the circle and then steps inside the circle, slices open his palm. Blood slips onto Dean's face, down his chest.

Sam murmurs the angel's prayer, the old, forgotten one. He knows he shouldn't call on him, not with demonbastard blood in his veins, but this is the last thing he knows to do.

-

Lilith guarded secrets, so many secrets.

When Sam ran through her memories, after Bobby had gone and the day had marched further and further out and he had ceased to make noises of loss, he had run over every inch of the memory she had deserted in him.

He had found hundreds, hundreds of ways to thwart her, all unknown to him. All were old, old tricks of Anansi, Tricksters, or the heavenly ways of the angels, the old gods, things that no human would ever know and things no demon would ever spill if they knew.

-

Blood mixes on Dean's torso, and Sam recites, begs for the Four to hear him.

Tears come up again, but he can only feel them, hot and painful.

-

It angered him, what she knew.

He dug deeper, deeper into what she knew.

Looked for a way to bring Dean back, shied away from what Dean wouldcouldshould be. Dug deeper, deeper, deeper.

And when the moon rose again, he found it.

-

_Please. Please, help him._

_I know I don't deserve it. But please._

_Please._

_Please._

_Help._

-

A feather light hand reaches up and brushes away his tears and clears his vision.

"We are here, son of John," an androgynous face smiles at him, short bright blonde hair framing it.

Sam blinks in bewilderment.

Gabriel steps back, and Sam sees the Four Archangels. Uriel has bleach blonde, near platinum blonde hair, jewel in his forehead. Michael holds his sword, black hair curly, gaze heavy. Raphael has wild red hair and a stoic expression beside Dean's head and Gabriel speaks.

"Why did you call on us?"

-

_Pain. _

_Everything's just a haze of pain._

_SammySammySammySammySammySammy._

_Pain._

_Someone touches his skin and then there's no pain, just...nothing._

_Nothingnothingnothing._

_Nothing feels good._

_"__**He gave up redemption for you,**__" says something with pale blonde hair and greyblue eyes. It would look sad, except sad shouldn't look so at peace at the same time, as if it already knew this._

_You don't know who He is, but this He must care._

_This He must be someone like Sammy._

-

Dean comes back to life in the middle of a suburban house, wounds burning and healing, half broken and not all himself.

There are runes and salt and brickdust and watching him, without a voice and sight, is Sammy, who has golden eyes and a smile on his face.

He hasn't redemption, but he has Dean.

* * *

_Review!_


End file.
